The Redwood Restoration

By Emily Barnett

Although Muir Woods had been closed for a year, I stole through the barricades in the dimness of dawn. No birds sang. No rustling. Only a presence.

As sun rays weaved through branches, so did the whispers. I caught human and woman on the wind’s tongue, and I prayed the forest would reveal what I sought.

Stepping off an overgrown path, I paused to touch bark, moss, and fern fronds. But none held magic in their roots. None held the disease my son had fought to eradicate.

None held the secrets of his whereabouts.

After an hour of searching, a redwood with a wrinkled trunk as wide as a cottage caught my eye. It shimmered, although the sun did not graze its bark.

Finally!

I drew a machete from my bag, but before I could strike to gain an audience, a voice creaked.

“You bring weapons to my domain, woman?”

My throat went dry. “Sh-show yourself.”

As the seconds stretched on, I dropped the machete and raised my hands in surrender.

“I need your help. Please.”

A sharp crack rent the air and I cried out. The trunk splintered into an arched door, and a tall man with tree bark skin slipped from the opening. The black pits of his eyes peered at me. With every step, his wide feet rooted themselves.

I bit my trembling lip. Monsters were no longer unusual; I just didn’t often summon them. Especially archaic, and sometimes malevolent, dryads.

“Why are you here?”

I tipped up my chin. “My son. He was a scientist doing research on the Botrytis blight a year ago. He was trying to save your home.” I motioned to the trees. “He was here when the Unboxing happened.”

“Yes,” the dryad said. “The day humans realized the world didn’t revolve around them. How refreshing.”

Rage coursed through me. But who was I most angry at? This creature, myself, or the explorers who’d found an ancient artifact, nicknamed it Pandora’s Box, then proceeded to open it? What good was discovery if it hurt people? The clay jar had released more than a shockwave that took out electricity and every technological advancement from the past hundred years. It had brought with it a grief unimaginable. It had taken my son.

“You must remember him,” I said, throat tightening. “He was here. And hasn’t been seen since.”

“Your people believe the Unboxing unleashed us, but it only revealed us. We have lived amongst you since the dawn of time. I tasted the world’s first waters.” He loomed nearer, smelling of rot. “The comings and goings of humans are like ants to me.”

Reaching into my bag, I brought out a glass bottle of gasoline and a lighter. I flicked the lighter and a flame bloomed. “Tell me where Charlie is, dryad, or I’ll take everything from you, just like you took everything from me.”

The forest groaned in agitation, but I didn’t relent.

Search parties had scoured Muir Woods for weeks before giving up, but I never would. I couldn’t. Who was I without him? A childless mother. A ship with no anchor. A night with no stars.

The dryad squinted. “You mean… Charles?”

My son’s name on his lips made my ears ring. “You know him?”

“I did, yes.”

“D-did?”

As if under a trance, I dropped my weapons and bag. Yet this was no magic. It was grief and desperation and even hope, mingling together like oil and water and silt. I folded my arms, squeezing myself together so I wouldn’t break.

“When did you see him?”

“Charles was with us for three weeks after the Unboxing. We became… friends.” The last word was strained. “He was determined to stop the Botrytis blight. But humans cannot help us.”

“Why?”

The tree creaked as if agitated at my questions.

“Because the blight is born from the things of Below. Only powerful magic can cure such a disease. Magic he did not have.”

“And… what happened to him?” My voice seemed to belong to another, my quaking body even more so.

“A pack of wraithounds grew hungry, and—” the dryad’s words broke off and a drop of sap crept from his eye. “I could not stop them.”

“No… He’s alive. I feel it.” I gripped the shirt over my heart. “In here.”

“He lives there, yes, but also Beyond. Where nothing can harm him again.”

I sank to my knees, nails digging into loam, longing to sink deep into the earth. “I was meant to save him. To bring him home.” I breathed in moss and dirt. Was this the last thing Charlie had smelled before he was killed?

When the shadows grew long, I sat up, empty. Adrift in a bleak sea.

“What do I do now?” I whispered.

A cold crept over me and I wished it would numb me completely. But even as I wished my ache to diminish, it would also diminish my son. The life he lived. The love he gave.

The dryad sat beside me, his knees creaking. “You finish the work he began.” He motioned to my fingers.

I knew what he sensed in them. Monsters hadn’t been the only thing revealed in the Unboxing. Magic within humans had manifested. Gifts and curses now crawled from our fingertips.

I eyed the dryad, noticing his arm was spotted. The blight. My gut churned with sympathy. Placing my palm on his wrist, I pressed magic into the Botrytis Charlie had fought to eliminate. My veins burned, as if my blood was taking in the disease and sanitizing it. I gasped through the pain.

The blight cleared.

“A healer.” The dyrad’s eyes widened. “You are the cure.”

A shard of Grief’s edge smoothed at his gratitude. Charlie was gone, but there was a forest to care for now. To watch over. For these creatures, but also for my son’s legacy.

“No,” I whispered, smiling through tears. “I’m a mother.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Barnett lives in Colorado with her husband and two hobbit sons. Her whimsical yet poignant stories have been published in several anthologies and online magazines. In her free time, you’ll find her drinking coffee and writing fantasy novels with all the feels. She’s far more dramatic on paper.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter